A Few Good Men
by Cyanide and Insomnia
Summary: One-shot, RAH. Sequel to and somewhat of an apology/explanation for Losing His Mind. Duke notices a discrepancy in their numbers, and decides to find out why.


Re-read the first one after 4 years and WOW I can see why you guys might have been a little intense. The garbage A/N did not help, either. Consider this (probably still garbage) ficlet a peace offering to this section, although due to the uh, _overwhelming_ response to the first I probably won't read any reviews on this one just in case.

It's not you, it's me.

If you didn't read the first one, a summary: bad things happen to bad people, good people make questionable choices, and even worse things happen to adorable rookies on the wrong side.

(though you should probably read the first one for full context)

* * *

" _Again?_ "

Duke stared in disbelief at the disciplinary report lying on his desk, which looked quite a bit heftier since the last time he'd seen it.

The soldier at the door nodded, expression grim. "Two tables, three chairs, and four men. We're lucky he wasn't in the armory this time."

That was an ugly, ugly day.

A long moment of deliberation, as the other man waited ramrod stiff and expectant for orders. He continued to regard the report as though it were a live cobra, not entirely sure he wanted to open it and read the boy's sins just yet.

Only a week or two in service, and a file this high. A travesty.

"Send 'em to me," Duke said finally. "If I can't straighten him out, then no one can."

The soldier gave a brief salute and hurried out the door. Hopefully he wouldn't have to literally drag the kid kicking and screaming to this office, that would make it so much harder to decide his fate in a calm, orderly manner. He was already struggling to remain impartial, what with that armory incident hanging over the young soldier's head like a noose waiting to clamp down on his neck.

There had to be a good reason for this kind of conduct. No one just up and _attacked_ their fellow Joe out of the blue, let alone discharged three rounds too close to a superior officer's face.

It wasn't long before a different soldier approached the doorway, a silhouette much smaller and slimmer than the one posted earlier, and judging by the reluctant slink that was probably his troublemaker, coming to face judgment.

Reluctant limp, more like.

Actually, the boy barely looked fit for active service. By his face, he would have pegged him at 16, too young to be in the army, let alone a Joe. By his body, short and thin, with a mangled, twisted-up leg that seemed to struggle to support his weight, he would never have passed the initial exam. He was too weak and too small - and he had been fighting the front lines? Who signed off on this?

He was also shaking like a leaf in his uniform, as though he fully expected to die here in this room. A trembling arm raised - stopped just a bit too long outstretched, as though he were performing a heil - and snapped to his head in a salute hard enough to rattle his helmet.

"P-petty officer James Harrigan reporting, SIR!" He barked, and then bit down on his lip as if he was stopping himself from saying something else. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Duke frowned, turning his attention back to the disciplinary report. He kept an eye on the boy as he slowly opened it, reading over the latest bad news.

"This is the third time this week, son," The older man sighed. "And you've only been with us for two weeks. Are you _trying_ to get yourself discharged, soldier?"

"N-no, sir, of course not, sir!"

His arms came to rest on top of the desk in a pensive manner, leaning forward to more closely regard his 'guest'. Scrutinizing him, in fact. Making sure he knew for a fact he was in deep shit, up to his neck, and by the way the boy flinched away from him, he was pretty sure it was unnecessary.

 _No, you're not allowed to feel sorry for him. He's hurt four men this time. His body count's nearing the double digits.  
_

"We've been lenient with you because you're a rookie, I think," He continued, voice solemn. "Too damn lenient. You could have gotten good men killed with your.. _episodes_ , and you know it."

James' shaking was a bit more visible, shifting his weight to better support himself on the good leg, babyish face looking rather pale. Don't you faint, boy. Don't even think about it. He doesn't want to be responsible for that and he sure as Hades doesn't want to deal with another disciplinary meeting because your body checked you out of this one.

Duke grunted, leaning back to cross his arms, his own weight subtly shifting to his toes in case he needed to leap over the desk and keep his soldier from crashing facefirst into something dangerous. "I'm going to give you one last chance to give some kind of explanation for all this mess, before I'm forced to take you out of service for your own good and the good of everyone else. Understood?"

A quick little nod.

"And sit your ass down before you hurt yourself. That's an order."

His commanding officer may have relaxed more than he did once both legs were off the ground and said butt was on the nearest chair.

Once James was settled, he seemed more rattled in a human way, rather than a soldier about to be fired out of a cannon. His big blue eyes would look towards the floor, and then his hands, and then Duke, and then the floor again, and on at least one round they would become unfocused, causing him to grab the side of his head with a wince.

"It's- it's not my fault," He started, and then winced in a different way as the other frowned. "I mean, it is my fault, I think? I keep having these nightmares-"

"We all do. It's part of defending your country."

A violent shake of the head. "No, it's not- it's worse than that. It's not related to anything I've done on the battlefield, it's ... it's like my brain is being sucked out of my head. And it hurts. Like somebody is literally tearing me apart. A-and- you'd think that's pretty bad, but it's understandable right? I mean you just said- but it's like that in the daytime too."

Duke found himself leaning forward again, but he said nothing.

"I keep forgetting who I am. Where I am, what I'm doing. I keep feeling like things aren't real, and that my allies are my enemies. There's this.. disconnect, in my head. And when I snap back, it hurts. At least I think I'm snapping back. I'm not.. I don't know if this is me. You know?"

"Have you checked in with Doc about this?" His voice was a bit gentler than before.

It didn't stop James from flinching back as though he'd suggested crawling headfirst into a vat of acid.

"I can't go to him. Something- I don't know what it is, I swear I'm not scared of doctors. Something keeps telling me he'll only make it worse." His hand moved to the side of his head again. "I don't want to know what's worse than this. I don't want to hurt my squad."

"You've _already_ hurt people, kid."

The boy looked alarmed, as though this was news to him.. or he was afraid of being found out about something. He was rather hard to read, to be honest, with all the fidgeting and the wincing.

"I need you to get a full physical and psychological evaluation, to make sure you're fit for duty." Back to the solemn 'you're in deep shit' tone, though a bit diluted with what might have been concern. "I can take you off the front lines until you've gotten your head straightened out, but I can't sanction keeping you here if you're a threat to others, you understand?"

"You're letting me go?" Another wince, and a perplexed look. As though he didn't remember saying it. "I- I mean- I can't. I can't do that with Doc. I can do that, just not with Doc."

Duke closed the report and shrugged. "Fine, you don't have to see Doc. But you have to see _someone_ , on the double. And I'm going to check in on you to make sure you've done it, personally."

The young soldier wilted like a bag of dead leaves in the chair, and he wasn't sure if it was from relief or the prospect of having his emotional baggage checked by one of the top-level Joes. Or both. Probably both.

"Dismissed. Try to behave yourself, soldier."

"Y-yes, sir!" Though it took him a bit longer than it probably should to become disentangled from the chair, and for a moment it looked as though he was going to collapse again. "It- ah- it won't happen again, sir! Hail Joe!"

Before Duke could express confusion at that last bit, James was gone. Bugger was fast on one and a half legs, he'll grant him that.

Well alright, that was weird but taken care of, he supposed.

Something wasn't right, here. The Joes prided themselves on being equal-opportunity when they could, sure, but there was a certain basic standard that boy fell far short from. He wasn't supposed to be here, and apparently, something in his brain was telling him the same thing, to the point that he was attacking his fellow soldiers.

Was this a recent thing? Or has this been a thing all his life, and only now it's showing up due to the proximity of stress and weaponry?

Once again, who in the fresh blue hell signed off on this?

The sargeant tried to focus on other menial paperwork, a few enlistment papers, a request for a transfer - again, which would more than likely be denied _again_ , Shipwreck - a few damage reports from a raid from COBRA a few months back.. but he kept coming back to that poor headcase of a boy. He couldn't remember seeing a James Harrigan listed anywhere, but then, maybe he wasn't the one that saw his papers.

It's only been a couple of weeks, it wouldn't be that hard to find them and possibly give the person responsible a slap upside the head.

... it shouldn't be that hard to find them.

Come on, now, the organizational system in this shitheap couldn't be THAT bad.

Well, alright, what about his official records? Social security number, birth certificate, medical history, tax information, the whole nine yards. Those couldn't possibly have gone missing, he kind of needs most of them to exist as a U.S. citizen.

Except that there was, in fact, no such person as James Harrigan.

There were a lot of Jameses, and a few Harrigans, but none together registered with Uncle Sam.

The boy was a ghost.

That... didn't improve his chances much as a soldier. And hopefully this time it was not in the literal sense of the word. He did not need crazy literal ghost kids in his ranks.

Thanks, COBRA, for ruining ghosts for him forever.

He should probably speak to the officer in charge of personnel about this. They of all people would know why the boy didn't have records, who in the fresh blue hell signed off on this, and be able to keep track of people despite the rather high turnover rate for soldiers below a certain rank. There were a lot of new recruits this time of year, and he hadn't had time to sort through the lot of them.

... assuming they weren't ghosts as well.

What was going on in this outfit that nobody bothered to tell him half their ranks might not actually exist as people?

He found himself wondering about a female soldier who had seemingly vanished a few months back, not long after that COBRA raid. Blond, reedy, kind of pretty in an awkward sort of way, with a small odd-shaped birthmark on the left side of her face. Sometimes it looked like Texas, sometimes it looked like a dinosaur.

She was probably a ghost too, come to think of it - in and out in a month or two.

Not everyone can just up and vanish or come out of nowhere or both. Generally one requested a transfer for the former, and the latter.. well, that tended to only cover certain eccentric Joes. Like a freakin' ninja.

But they got the lion's share of their soldiers from the U.S. military, _and you don't just ninja into the goddamn military._

Sweet baby Jesus this was getting ridiculous.

Duke pushed the paperwork away, then promptly pushed himself away from the desk and onto his feet. He would take a quick walk to clear his head of dinosaurs and ghosts, and then he would speak to the officer in charge of personnel, and hopefully this could all be sorted in a sane, sensible way so that he could that much sooner go back to focusing on the _real problem_ in blue pajamas and a silver facemask.

There was a fleeting thought of whether or not said commander of snakes had to deal with nonsense like this, but then, he probably _invented_ this nonsense somehow.

 **xxxxxxxxxxx**

His walk was thoroughly unsatisfying, mostly for what he found at the gate.

"What the hell are you bringing these guys here for?" Duke angrily gestured at the truck stuffed full of morose COBRA troopers. "I never signed off on detaining prisoners at our headquarters - you're supposed to be shipping 'em out to the authorities."

Gung Ho turned off the truck and slid out of the seat, not looking at his commanding officer as he padded over to the back in order to open it.

"Bus was late, got tired of waitin'. They ain't stayin' long, n' you ain't gotta look at 'em."

The prisoners slowly stirred, a few slinking out with a resigned, kicked-dog expression likely earned from multiple captures. They should probably count themselves lucky they're just captured, he thought, and frowned a bit at his teammate practically dragging the stragglers out. They didn't even struggle, most of them, and the ones that did were thwacked with a rifle or a meaty Cajun mitt until they behaved themselves.

It felt a bit less like unloading the captured forces of the enemy, and more like a procession of weary animals to the slaughterhouse.

One of the female troopers balked for a moment, glancing up at Duke with a flash of recognition in her half-dead eyes. It vanished as soon as it came, leaving a very confused woman and an even more confused Joe. She shook her head and ducked down to follow her fellow snakes before she could incur the wrath of Gung Ho.

.. he could have sworn there was a spot on her face that was either shaped like Texas or a dinosaur.

"Wait- where are you taking them?" The sad procession stopped, and there may have been hope in the eyes of the ones that lifted their heads. It kind of hurt. "Do we even have space for them? Last I heard-"

"Cleared out th' block last week."

Damn it.

"And it's only temporary."

"Yup." A little obnoxious sneer that at this moment he wasn't sure belonged on that mustachioed face, entirely. He vaguely remembered the kid's 'disconnect'. He was feeling it a bit himself. "Unless yer takin' a shine to a couple of 'em n' wanna keep 'em around as pets?"

Don't you laugh at him for being a human being that's offended by that suggestion, sir.

"As you _were_ , soldier."

That was not even a regulation salute. That wasn't even a non-regulation salute. That was- that was a nigh on Shipwreck brand arm insult.

No, he's not going to worry about that. He's not going to think about the sad-eyed snakes in their little pens they aren't even supposed to occupy, or Gung Ho's affront to all tenants of the U.S. military. He was going to see the damn personnel officer like he planned, and he was going to sort out this mess with the basket case ghost boy, and things were going to stop being ridiculous before they forced him into early goddamn retirement, end of story.

... maybe he could also benefit from a visit to Doc. Just in case.

Although perhaps asking how to deal with the feeling that the entire outfit is hiding something from you is not the best way to affirm your mental fitness.

Speak of the devil, there goes a certain doctor in tan fatigues.

Duke should probably feel somewhat ashamed of himself for practically sprinting after the other man, but if there's one thing he can control today, it's his own mental health. Although the doctor seemed a little more elusive than he remembered..

The sargeant stopped in his tracks, mainly to stop that thought in ITS tracks.

Doc is not a literal ghost. Don't even start with that.

Brown and tan disappeared into one of the outbuildings, and he continued to sprint until he managed to catch up with him. He may have set a hand on his shoulder for purely balance-related reasons, mind, not to make sure he was real - though they both knew that he was in far better shape and couldn't possibly be winded by a short term wild goose chase.

Either way, Doc seemed somewhat alarmed to see him. Hard to tell with those mirrored glasses, there, but his expression soon softened into a friendly smile. "I thought you were on desk duty, Duke."

"Got a little sidetracked by the freakshow back there," Gesturing in the direction Gung Ho had taken the captured soldiers, which... wasn't that far off from here. Huh. "Would you know anything about that?"

The little smile widened. "No, of course not. But I would like to check them over before they go, you see - I have doubts about the medical facilities in prison. Or COBRA."

COBRA probably DID have a crappy healthcare system, but he's still going to find that a bit suspicious. He chose not to say anything, though, merely walking with Doc. Partially to be nice, partially to find out where exactly he was going when he was supposed to be in the medical tent at this moment.

He couldn't possibly want to see the snakes now, could he?

"That's awful generous of you, Doc, but they're not yours to check. They're not even supposed to be here."

Dark lips formed a rather solemn line, what he could see of his face pensive and disappointed. Possibly a little angry, though that was probably a trick of the light.. or lack thereof. This outbuilding needed its wiring checked.

"I suppose not," A rather fake-sounding sigh. Suddenly he was on edge again. "You won't fault me for trying to make the best of an odd opportunity, eh? Tell me, why else are you out here?"

He wasn't sure he should tell him, which was weird. He was a DOCTOR, not Snake Eyes. "Trying to clear my head after I made some odd discoveries. Turns out, our latest problem child - you know the one - doesn't exist. There are plenty of Jameses, but no James Harrigan."

"Is that so?" Conversational, casual, faltering a bit.

Duke stopped in his tracks once again. Doc stopped a second later, head lightly tipped to the side, questioning.

The Joe leader kept his tone even. "Would you happen to know something about this, Doc?"

Doc said nothing. Only smiled.

"Kid told me about some problems he's been having, nightmares and headaches. Feeling like he doesn't know who he is." Narrowing his eyes, watching for any subtle tells. "Told 'em to come see you, but he thinks you'll make it worse. Would you happen to know anything about _that_?"

A little twitch. A crack in the mask he wasn't supposed to be wearing.

Straight to the point, then.

"What in the fresh blue hell is going ON in this outfit that no one wants me to know about?"

There was a long, tense moment of silence- and then Doc chuckled. He may have played his cards too close to the vest, there.

"Sounds like you're developing a bit of paranoia, Duke," This time his tone was more natural, and though Duke was still staring him down, the doctor turned to continue walking, gesturing alongside him with a sweep of his arm. "Would you please step into my office?"

He blinked. They weren't anywhere near his office. In fact, he wasn't actually sure what this building was FOR.

Begrudgingly he followed anyway, muscles tensed, body on guard despite the fact that he should be able to trust Doc. But what if it wasn't actually Doc? What if it was Zartan in a Doc disguise? What if he had been replaced by an evil clone?

Damn it, COBRA, taking the piss from states of emergencies by having objectively awful plans like that. Both options were extremely dangerous from past experience and he wasn't discounting them but DAMN did it sound stupid in his head.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Like the hallway, the 'office' was rather dark. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be seeing here.

"I suppose it was high time you knew," Doc's voice echoed from further back in the darkness, and suddenly the room was flooded with clinical white light. "I never really was that good at keeping secrets from you, was I?"

It looked to be a lab. A mad scientist's lab more than one might expect from a simple doctor. All sorts of strange equipment, dials and knobs and levers - and center stage, a wicked-looking chair-like contraption. It had a metal clamping device approximately where a human head would be when seated, restraints on each arm and a locking metal jaw on the bottom where legs would go. It was connected to one of the panels with a lever on it, like one might see in those old Frankenstein movies to electrocute the monster.

There were mysterious stains on the floor and the panels nearby, and a light dusting on the inside of the head clamp. There were also little scrapes on the floor from where the legs had attempted to move despite being bolted down.

It looked like a torture device.

In fact, everything in this room looked like the sort of thing you might find at home in COBRA's lairs.

Some of the equipment even had the damn logo on it, faded from years of use. He didn't want to think how they had gotten 'use'. He didn't want to know about them at all.

"These are supposed to be destroyed." Was the first thing he could think to say.

"Especially this one," Doc agreed a little too cheerfully, patting the torture chair. "I really should have just let it go. But see.. the possibilities were too great. Don't you want to know what it does?"

Duke ground his teeth. "What does it do."

A wide, crooked, somewhat vacant grin, light reflecting from his mirrored glasses in such a way that he looked to have goddamn ghost lights for eyes.

"It's an attitude adjuster. Brain switcher. Mind alterer- I can't remember what they called it now. It's been ages. You hook a noggin up here," Picking up the head clamp. "and then you just casually _rip_ the unwanted parts right out and put your own parts back in. It's a quick and easy process, usually. Hurts like the dickens but so does getting a shot."

A coughed laugh. "I mayyyy have done some tests on myself. Just a tiny bit."

Well that explained why he was the cagiest, most terrifying thing on this Earth at the moment.

"That's probably irreversible and I don't think I'm myself anymore- but see- the possibilities!" Thwacking the clamp on the chair for emphasis, just loud enough to make Duke's ears ring. "You know how hard it is to really find good men, really good soldiers? No one wants to sign up for the possibility of being slaughtered on the front lines. Nobody wants to die. I understand that."

The sargeant's fingers curled into fists, trying not to think about where this was going. He had to focus. Had to do something about Doc. But not while he had that thing in his hand. It would be all too easy for Doc - not-Doc - to pop it on him amidst the struggle, and then who knows who he would wake up as.

"But then COBRA practically giftwraps THEIR soldiers, don't they? They've got the survival instinct of a concussed duck. And they're not very bright, either - criminals and lowlives, weak-willed and easy picking for the commander. And me!"

Slowly edging closer to the man and chair, subtle toe-steps as to not draw his attention. Please don't draw his attention.

"And- and you know the best part? They've got their own machine! A better one! We send ours out that used to be theirs, and they send theirs out that used to be ours!" A wild hoot of laughter, as though this was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "We've been playing the same game of Red Rover for years!"

 _Years?_

Suddenly Duke felt sick. A little weaker in the knees than he was used to. Damn it, he should have tuned him out. Now he was just thinking about the sad-eyed snakes and the wide-eyed grunt soldiers and who even knows who belonged to who at this point.

No wonder they had been so broken. They had had their minds scrambled by both sides for years.

Doc took the opportunity to snag him around the shoulders and drag him close, too close to the chair, an embrace that feigned camaraderie and promised brain-death. "I know what you're thinking. It probably starts with a court and ends in a martial. But see, normally, remember, it only takes a moment. Normally, they don't remember who they used to be. They're happy to serve their country. They're happy with us. It only gets botched up if they've got a strong grip on something in their beady little heads."

Through the corner of his eye, he could see Gung Ho - his face was vacant and awkward as Doc's, he had likely had the same treatment - leading the captured troopers in. They were cuffed and blindfolded. They didn't know where they were going, _and they didn't fight it._

"I warned him, you know. I told him not to fight it, because deep down, I don't LIKE hurting them. I think that's what's left of the old me. Aren't you glad? I'm not totally a monster yet."

Before he could tell him that he'd not only crossed but jumproped that line, Doc shoved him aside to make room for the first hapless grunt. Having expected to be pulled _towards_ the chair rather than _away_ from it, he may have landed facefirst on the floor.

"Red Rover, Red Rover, briiiiiiiiing- ah, Samson over!"

He knew their names. He knew their names and he continued to do this to them. Was that even that man's name anymore?

A trembling thick-set trooper was dragged towards the chair, and before they'd even strapped him in he started to cry. Big, blubbery, mostly silent tears. He knew it wasn't going to change anything but he was doing it anyway.

Screw it. He couldn't just lay here like an idiot and watch this any longer. He was a hero, damn it.

A real American hero. A G.I. Joe.

And if there was one thing a Joe did best in regards to mystery COBRA torture equipment, it was to blow it to thousands of tiny smithereens.

Duke got up into a crouch, staying out of Doc's line of sight. He was saying something to his victim that only made said victim cry more. Don't focus on that. Don't focus on the others patiently waiting for their turn. He edged his way towards the nearest control panel, looking for a way to screw something up. It had to be violent, and large, but not large enough to kill everyone.

"Oi! What's HE doin' here?!" Gung Ho cried.

Wow, does someone not pay attention or what.

"How about some target practice?" Duke called back, and chucked the nearest thing he could find at him in hopes to engage whatever counted as a 'threat' mode in what was left of his brain.

Predictably, Gung Ho started shooting.

The troopers immediately dove for the floor, while Doc hid behind his chair, and the victim, currently locked in, merely flinched away from the shooting noises and hoped for the best. The laser barrage tore across the panels, and the levers, and the knobs, and even one of the lights.

Nothing serious, yet, and he hadn't hit the chair's power supply. Even if nothing else is destroyed, it has to be that.

Duke darted back out into the open and chucked another piece of debris at him, this time pinging him in the face. Then he immediately rushed for the power supply, sliding past it and the chair - and a few larger, more dangerous sources of power - just as the rifle was at work again. Doc attempted to grab onto his leg, barely clearing the resulting blast.

Unfortunately, that was a larger explosion than he'd intended. Samson was likely dead, considering chair parts were flying all over the room. He would have to beat himself up about that later.

For now, he had to clear the area of the rest of them. A piece of the chair was pierced into something very large, very dangerous, and very unstable. There was no telling when that thing would blow, or implode, or do something even worse than that. One casualty was enough. And he definitely didn't want HIMSELF to become a casualty.

"You ruined it! You ruined everything!" Doc was saying. He may have had debris lodged in the back of his head. How he wasn't dead he wasn't sure. "It's the perfect plan! The perfect system! Don't go messing with the system!"

He should technically leave him. It wasn't really Doc anymore.

Screw it. Hero. Grabbing the likely dying man under one arm like a cat on his way to take care of the other... who seemed to be unconscious. Well, fine. He didn't want to deal with him anyway. Hefting him over his shoulder like a sack of really, really heavy potatoes _why did he do this_.

The weight shifted, as one of the troopers shouldered Gung Ho's unconscious form. This guy didn't have a blindfold, or he lost it. Doesn't matter now. Duke gave a quick nod and moved back to grab the shoulder of one of the others.

"Follow our footsteps or you're gonna become a statistic." That probably could have come out better.

The trooper jerked back like cat splashed with water, but nodded as well.

He could hear footsteps thudding behind him as he sprinted back out the way he came, and by the time the whatever it was finally gave way, the whole lot of them were standing outside in the damn sunshine like a weird sort of family.

Of course you don't just BLOW UP A THING in the middle of the Pit without the rest of the Joes noticing.

He managed to forget this until he was neck-deep in concerned soldiers.

"Doc went crazy," And is probably dead. "Big conspiracy. Explain later. Break time now."

Just going to sit down, let someone else handle the probably corpse and the not-corpse, and try to clear his head for real. It would probably be easier if the rescued COBRA troops weren't crowding around him somewhat protectively.

"Sit your asses down before you hurt yourselves. That's an order."

Obedient plop.

"That's more like it."


End file.
